Not Even Once: Success Version
by ParadiseAvenger
Summary: Meth Awareness. Part Three of Three. Success Ending. It all started on the night of the rave. He found her and got her in rehab. On his own, he wasn't enough, but someone else was. Partial AU. Adult Themes. Different from original one-shot. DannyXSam.
1. Sam

Alright, first of all, this is a **Meth Awareness** one-shot.

Everyone MUST go to this website! **www. montana meth. org** If anyone is too lazy to remove the spaces, there's a link in my profile. But I have personally SEEN the sick shit Meth does to people. _Watch the commercials, read the print ads, and look at the pictures! _

And by all means, **spread the word**!

As you can tell, I am very passionate and righteous about this subject.

_**WARNING**_**: DARK FIC! **_until the __end_**. This is the ****"**HAPPY ENDING**" version****.**

There's no _nice_ way to write this. _Meth does some fucked up shit to your world!_

…

This is a short Danny Phantom one-shot because I needed the character background between the three friends. Sora and Kairi and Riku have some background, but not enough to really make the story meaningful. (The opening is also very similar to the most recent commercials made by Montana Meth Project because I really liked it, but after that it's all me.) I might dig out some creativity and do one for Tsubasa and Kingdom Hearts, but for now this is all I've got.

Most of this is the same as the original except a small "_This is…_" added to the beginning here and the happy ending. 

X X X

_This is the joint where we used to hang out._

The Nasty Burger sign was half out. A few neon letters flickered hopelessly, buzzing and whining like something from a horror movie. It looked like it should be saying _No Vacancies_ above a disgusting seedy motel, but it's always looked that way. Yet, happy teenagers still bustled in and out of the swinging glass doors without a care in the world. No one cared anymore. Laughter owned the wind, leaves rustled in the beautiful trees, and the sky was crystal-clear opium blue.

_This is the place where she first tried it._

The rave in the old rundown warehouse was aglow with pulsing strobes and black lights. People were laughing and jumping, dancing and moshing, screaming and singing. The music was like a second heartbeat, pulsing and throbbing. Bodies practically shook with the force of the bass and everyone was dancing, high and happy. One by one, the lights went out until there was nothing but darkness left. That was all there was anymore, after all.

_This is what she used to pick imaginary bugs out of her skin._

He was looking for her again, searching her room in her broken home even though he knew she wasn't there anymore. The faucet was dripping sluggishly, echoing. Bloodied razors were lying on the edge of the sink. Blood had gathered like thick red wax around the drain. There were nail clippers and tweezers lying out, all gory and blood-smattered. He didn't know what she had been using them for. Only that her skin was coming apart.

_This is where she forced Tucker smoke it with her._

It was the playground where they had all first met. No one went there anymore. The swings were rusted and creaky and the vibrant plastic equipment in the new playgrounds was still old baking metal here. The slide loomed into the sky like an old cold claw, sweeping down to earth like a suicidal dive. The merry-go-round wouldn't spin anymore. The trees shaded everything in a cloak of darkness, taking it away from the real world. This place… was practically a nightmare now.

_This is where her dealer raped her._

It used to be a hospital, but it was nothing anymore. The walls were coated in peeling paint, the windows were thick with dust and grime, and the sink in one of the haunted old bathrooms was continuously dripping thick brown water. The place was littered with forgotten paraphernalia from another century and the current hell in this one. They said ghosts roamed those halls, but it was really just the spirits of the people that she left behind… including herself.

_This is where she beat up her best friend._

Under the bleachers where they used to sit and watch football games on Friday nights, a few beams of dirty light were slanting in. There were footprints in the old dried mud and the impression of his body where she had thrown him down in her paranoia. He could never have brought himself to hurt her, but she could hurt him. Oh yes, she could hurt him. But it wasn't her fault, he told everyone, she didn't know what she was doing. Right?

_This is where she started selling her body._

Finally, a home for the Nasty Burger's flickering broken-down neon sign. It had one of those big dumb green motel signs with the big burned-out letters and no real name, just one of those anonymous places where people like her could disappear. It had a creaky iron staircase and wobbly little balconies with twisted wrought-iron rails. Inside the rooms were sagging queen-sized beds covered in hideous spreads with who-knew-what caked on them. The sheets were scented with sex and sweat and burning. Light came in through the grimy curtains and water ran in the shower. There was more blood and flesh in the sink.

_This is the corner where he found her again._

It was a cold day. It was snowing. The soft white flurries were floating down as if they wished to completely encase the world in ice, to preserve it. People were bustling along on the street—Christmas shopping, chatting, and laughing. No one paid any attention.

_And this is what I said when she told me she was going to try Meth._

Someone—her best friend—was there on the phone with her, planning their escape to the rave that weekend, but there was nothing but the crackle of silence on the other end of the phone line. He didn't say anything.

"Danny?"

Nothing, silence, nothing…

…

It was hard to believe, anymore.

But, they used to be happy. They used to share cheesy fries and veggie burgers and get milkshakes after football games on Friday nights, but then everything changed after the night of the rave. Nothing was good anymore. Everything was different, worse, terrible, awful, hideous, broken…

Tucker was in rehab and he was the lucky one.

Danny was broken, out looking for her.

And Sam… Sam was dead.

…

The warehouse looked like a ghost house from the outside, but lights burned inside. (The lights burned but no one was home.) The beams of colored sugary light played on the big grimy broken windows and pulsing music drifted out. It looked like something out of some kind of movie.

The rave was nothing like Danny had expected. It was loud and flaming bright. Someone was standing on stage, spinning an array of candied lights so that she looked like all the holidays mixed together. Her partner was all gauzy goddess fabric like butterfly wings, all papery and fake. People were slamming into him from all sides, bouncing him off of Sam and other people. They had already lost Tucker in the crowd, shouting over the music somewhere behind them. The strobe lights made his head swim and he couldn't hear his own voice over the music. His heartbeat felt drowned out by the throb of the music.

"Sam!" Danny shouted as she slipped easily through the crowd, getting farther and farther away from him. "Sam, wait!"

"I love you!" Some girl was sticking to Danny, hanging off his shoulders, breathing in his ear. Her body was burning up, smoldering hot like she had a fever. She was high on Ecstasy, voice sugary sweet against the shell of his ear as her hands pawed down his chest. "I love you," she said again.

Danny had lost sight of Sam. She was somewhere in the throng of dancing people, looking like every other Goth girl though she had never looked that way to him before. She always stood out to him, but here… She wore too much black and her purple blended in with the ultraviolet black lights. He couldn't see her.

"Sam!" Danny shouted, reaching out through the people around him.

That girl was still on him. She was holding him back, laughing and crying out, clutching at his shoulders and shirt. He shook her off, hearing her make a sound that was pure disappointment and then say again to someone else, "I love you!"

"Sam!"

Danny was only in time to see her put the pretty spun-sugar fake-looking glass pipe to her lips, inhale in a way that didn't seem possible with the glass bubble on the end, and blow out white steam. He never saw her eyes darken, dilate. "Sam!" Then, she was all smiles and cheer, face glowing with confidence that he had never seen in her before.

"Come on, Danny," she laughed. "Let's dance. Don't look so glum." She grabbed his hands and spun him around, head tipped back and grinning from ear to ear. Her lips were pursed, painted glossy purple, and her onyx hair was feathering on her pale skin. She looked beautiful, but…

Her flesh felt hot and sweaty and he almost wanted to pull away. "Sam," he murmured, voice lost to the music.

"Don't worry. I'm only going to do Meth once."

That was what she said to him.

Then she was lost in the throng of beautiful people and he was left standing there alone until Tucker finally caught up with him, found him in the mess that was this party. Tucker felt cold, the chill from his fingers was seeping into Danny's flesh through his clothes. Danny couldn't speak and Tucker didn't say anything.

Life went on, but it was all over… just like that… like the snap of fingers, like the flick of a light switch, like the breaking of bones.

It was all over.

She was all over.

Sam was already dead.

…

It had been almost a month since the rave and Sam was steadily slipping away. They saw less and less of her. Her grades had dropped. Her skin looked pale and waxy, washed-out and ashen, and she looked like she hadn't been sleeping. She had lost weight, clothes hanging off of her body. Then, she just stopped coming at all.

Sam slipped away from them.

Danny felt sick a lot.

Tucker was losing his cheer.

…

It was Friday. The morning dawned grey and rainy with a thick blanket out clouds covering the sky, hiding the sun. The pavement was damp and puddles reflected the heavy hideous grey sky like some kind of impending doom. The air smelled fertile though, like flowers could be grown in it, like soot, like moist earth. The scent was like a silver lining, making the world seem less bleak. In the distance, the thick black storm clouds crackled with lightning and claps of thunder.

Sam hadn't been in school for almost a week.

Danny and Tucker were getting worried.

"I have a doctor's appointment after school," Tucker repeated as he and Danny headed to sixth period. "I really wish I could go—"

"Tucker, we've gone through this three times," Danny said with a heavy sigh. "I'll stop by her house on my way home and check on her. I can go by myself, honest." He pulled the door to the classroom open, allowing a few girls in before him and Tucker.

"I know, but—"

"You're not being a bad friend. You have an appointment. I'll go."

Tucker didn't say anything, just looked at the floor and shuffled to his seat.

Their last class seemed to drag on. All Danny did was stare at the clock and Tucker clicked his pen restlessly. A few people around them cast dirty looks their way, annoyed by the clicking of the pen and Danny's absently tapping fingers. The teacher called on Danny a few times, got no response, and finally gave up.

At last, the bell ran and school let out.

Danny and Tucker left together, but turned in different directions once they got off campus. Tucker got into his mother's car and Danny headed off to Sam's house. If he had known then what he was going to find, maybe he would've brought Tucker along with him. Then again, maybe he would have rather gone by himself.

Sam's house was a beautiful old-fashion redbrick Colonial with white shutters and trim and a glossy black door with a big brass lion's head doorknocker. Danny knocked and waited patiently for someone to open the door. Sam's mother, a surprisingly prim and proper lady with rich honey-blonde hair to Sam's darkness and violet, answered the door. Normally, she wasn't very happy to see him, but today his presence appeared to make her nervous.

"D-Danny?" she asked.

"Hi, Mrs. Manson. Is Sam in?" Danny asked, ever polite and sweet. "She hasn't been in school that past few days and I wanted to check on her."

Mrs. Manson shuffled nervously, hem of her pink and white dress touching the floor. It looked like a nightgown, but she didn't look as if she had been sleeping. "I… I don't know where Samantha is."

"You don't know?" Something must have shown in his face.

Mrs. Manson paled and closed over the door as if to hide behind it. "She went out," she said almost nervously. There was a small tremor in her voice. "I don't know where she is," she said finally. Then, she slammed the door in Danny's face.

The bronze lion head glared at him fiercely as if banishing him from the doorway.

Disturbed by her actions and words, Danny knocked again, never one to be pushed away when his friends were concerned.

Mrs. Manson opened the door again, but seemed shocked to find him still standing there. Her eyes were glassy, swollen, and welling with tears. "Danny," she croaked. There was something horrible lurking in her voice, fear and horror and pain.

"Where is Sam?" He hated the tremor in his own voice. "Where is she?"

A sob wracked Mrs. Manson's body and she opened the door to him, turning her face away. With a shaking hand, she just pointed towards the stairs, towards Sam's bedroom. As he passed her, Danny saw a bruise around her wrist, a handprint. It was too small to be from her husband. It was more the perfect size to be… Sam's hand? A knot formed in his throat, choking him.

"Where is she?" he found himself repeating.

But Mrs. Manson only collapsed into hopeless sobbing. She didn't even point towards the stairs anymore, just crumpled in on herself like wet paper. Danny bolted for the stairs, suddenly inexplicably terrified for Sam and her family. He passed Mr. Manson on the stairs, but the man didn't even spare him a passing glance. He looked catatonic with deep dark bruise-like circles under his red-rimmed eyes. His normally pressed clothes were wrinkled.

Danny slammed open Sam's bedroom door, crying out her name, but he didn't get very far. He tripped over something spread out on the floor in the dark, something that clattered and spun, and fell on his face. Sam's blinds were pulled and her room was pitch black. Fumbling for the light switch, Danny flooded the room with light. Other than the fact that her room was messy—clothes spread all over the floor, makeup out on the vanity dresser, bed unmade—her room looked relatively normal.

Sam was nowhere to be seen.

He dashed to the bathroom, flipping on that light as well, and immediately collapsed to his knees, choking and gagging. He didn't recognize the little animal sounds that were coming from his own throat. Spread out across the vanity was a sickening array of bloodied things. She had taken apart her razor and the three blades were scattered across the vanity. One was laying in the sink in a puddle of blood and tattered flesh. The other two were laying side by side on the rim. There were tweezers with hair and flesh caked in them, nail clippers with hunks of flesh caught in the blades, and wads of bloodied tissues with more skin and hair in them. The cream-colored vanity was stained with so much blood. It was even running down the cabinets under the sink. It looked as if someone had stood at this sink for hours, picking themselves apart.

Half-sick, Danny clutched his stomach, trying to get a hold of himself. He took a few deep tremulous breaths.

This must be some cruel trick.

This couldn't be _Sam_… her room, her bathroom, her house, her parents…

It must have been a trick, some fucking sick trick. It couldn't be her!

Sam was only going to smoke Meth once.

She wasn't going to become one of those pictures he saw in movies and magazines—faces torn apart, sores and puss, tattered flesh, picking themselves apart… _addicted_, dying.

Danny stumbled to his feet, gripping the vanity to pull himself up. His hand stuck in the dried blood and the tweezers clattered into the sink so loudly that the sound startled him. Jolting, he bolted from the Manson's house like a frightened animal. Mrs. Manson was still weeping on the floor and Mr. Manson was still staring at nothingness when Danny ran out.

He wanted to call Tucker, but he couldn't…

He just couldn't.

…

Tucker was sitting on a swing in their favorite playground when they were kids. The swing creaked as he moved like some ancient animal, unhappy to budge. A cold wind howled through the looming slide and whistled through Tucker's jacket, chilling him to the bone. Behind him, the dark strip of trees thrashed and moaned.

Danny was gone again.

Actually, Tucker didn't see much of Danny anymore. Danny was always gone, out looking for Sam, never giving up. He looked like a shambling zombie fresh from the grave. His skin had always been pale, but now he looked dead. His flesh was stretched over his bones so that he had the visage of a skeleton. His dark obsidian hair was lackluster. His body was down to the bare minimum, just skin and bones with that thin bloodless flesh. Worse, his baby blue eyes that had always held so much life and promise were more like glass marbles than eyes anymore. They were empty.

There was rustling in the bushes behind Tucker, but he ignored it. It was probably just a stray dog. There seemed to be a lot of them now.

"Hey, Tucker…" a familiar voice rasped close to his ear.

He jolted, practically flying from the seat of the swing.

It was _Sam_!

And she looked like shit. Her dark hair hung in strings around her face, raggedly cut as if she had simply been ripping it out. Her mouth was chapped and bloody and she had sores in the corners of her lips. There was a place on her face where all the flesh had been torn away. She was covered in bruises, like she had been beaten up, and her clothing hung off her skeleton thin body. Her eyes were what shocked him the most. The amethyst orbs were half-crazed, bestial.

Danny looked like a ghost, but Sam…

Sam looked like a monster.

"Sam!" Tucker gasped out. "You scared me. Where have you been?"

She slid into the swing he had leaped from and began to sway back and forth. "You know, _around_…" she said. "Trying new things… broadening my horizons…"

"We've all been worried sick. Your parents are a wreck. Danny's a wreck. He's out looking for you right now."

She was quiet for a moment. "You want to know the truth, Tucker?"

No, he wasn't sure he did, but his mouth was ahead of his heart. "What?"

"I've been smoking Meth. It's _good_."

"Sam, that shit is bad for you. It has Drain-O in it."

"Have you ever tried it?"

"No!"

"Then you don't know how good it is…" She pulled out a small glass pipe from her tattered coat pocket, put some crystals in it, flicked her lighter, and inhaled with her mouth at the tip. Then, she blew it out in Tucker's face. It smelled disgusting, like something dead, but… that could have been her breath. Her teeth were yellow and sick-looking. "Try it, Tucker."

"No, Sam. You should come with me. There are people that can help you. We can get you into a clinic. Danny and I will stay by you, I swear."

She stood up, licking her lips, biting the sore at the corner of her mouth. "Okay, Tucker, okay." Then, she held out the pipe to him. "Try it. Smoke it with me. If you still think it's bad, I'll go with you."

"Sam—"

"Come on, Tuck, I'm your friend. Just smoke it and then I'll go with you. I promise," she said. Blood rolled down her chin.

At that moment, Tucker just wanted to get her someplace safe so badly… He wanted Danny to stop being out in dangerous places at night looking for her. He wanted her parents to stop crying. He wanted to stop fearing that she was dead. He just wanted her safe, so…

Tucker took the pipe from Sam's cold hands and watched her heat the drug until it sizzled like something burning. Then, he put it to his lips and tried to inhale. It was difficult and it was just a small puff. It tasted horrible—chemical and bloody and rotten—and then, his head spun and the ground rushed up to meet him. He saw the pipe go bouncing off into the high brown grass, saw Sam's boots as she went to get it, and then his world went black. He remembered calling out her name, but when he woke up it wasn't to Sam.

It was to a haunting white hospital room with Danny slumped at his bedside, asleep, looking pale and half-dead and more than a little hurt. He could hear his parents and the Mansons and the Fentons talking in the hallway, talking about Sam, but they sounded very far away. He couldn't make out what they were saying.

He was so tired.

But, above all, he wanted another hit.

…

Sam walked through the deserted derelict house, footsteps echoing. She was shaking so bad. She _needed_ another hit. The walls were closing in on her. And there was that itching, the horrible scrabbling itching feeling just beneath her skin, like bugs were crawling on her, like spider webs were clinging to her skin. She scratched her arm, feeling that if she could _just get a little bit deeper_ the itch would go away. Dried peeled paint crunched underfoot and she could hear the sink dripping somewhere. Hardly any light came in through the windows.

Finally, she saw the dark profile of her dealer just ahead of her in the hallway, leaning on the wall, looking as cool as the first time he had offered it to her. She felt him sucking her in. Don looked slick and sensual, all deep mocha-latte skin and dark hair and dark alluring eyes.

She hated blue eyes anymore.

"Hey, Don." Her voice came out sick and twisted and childish, like a lost little girl. She giggled at the thought and scratched the side of her neck, feeling wetness as flesh sloughed off. She wasn't a little girl anymore.

Fuck you, Mom and Dad!

Fuck you for never accepting me!

Fuck Tucker for not understanding!

Fuck Danny!

Fuck Danny…

She staggered over to Don, clutching at his coat, amazed at how sick and black her fingers looked. "Did you bring it?"

"Of course. Three grams for my best customer," Don said and looked down at her as if disgusted.

Sam giggled. "Three? How much?"

"For you…" Don wet his lips. "Free…"

Then, he attacked her.

The sick part was, she barely cared. If it got her Meth, he could do anything he wanted with her body.

She lay on that filthy floor, letting him kiss her and tear off her clothes. Don pulled down her jeans and her panties, tearing the elastic, and flung them. Then, he started clattering with his belt and chains, finally getting free. It felt like a long time to Sam while he did that. Then, he got between her legs and tore into her.

It hurt!

The pain was like nothing she had ever experienced in her life. The agony was white-hot, ripping through every molecule and fiber of her body, and worse yet… Don kept going. She realized she was losing her virginity here on the floor of a ramshackle abandoned house with a man she barely knew for Meth.

She dug her fingers into Don's shoulders and let out a scream of pain. Hot tears spilled down her cheeks, running her black makeup into bruise-like shadows. She was sobbing and whimpering and writhing in agony beneath him like a small animal pinned down in a corner.

He only laughed. "I love this business."

Sobbing and whimpering, Sam didn't taste Danny's name on her lips when she cried out. She only felt Don's kisses and his teeth and his dick deep inside her. She felt everything falling away, splintering like the pieces of a broken mirror and flying away like shooting stars. Then, he was hot inside her and something spilled out. He wiped himself off on her shirt as if she was used and discarded. Then, he dropped the bag of Meth on her bared stomach.

After that, she didn't care anymore.

…

Campus was practically deserted, just a few people still lingered with friends and relatives. The ground was thick with mud from the previous night's heavy rains. Birds were chirping though and the sun was shining. Everything seemed okay, but it wasn't.

School was out. Graduation. It didn't feel like anything walking across that stage, hearing the speeches about his class and his peers.

He had graduated. Barely.

But, he was _alone_.

Tucker was in rehab, getting over the Meth addiction Sam had given him.

No one had seen Sam in a few months and it had been almost six months since the rave.

Danny had started wishing that they had crashed that night. He wished that he had been crippled, that he had broken his neck, that he had been jumped. Anything to keep them from going—even if it put him in the hospital, even if it killed him—but…

_They hadn't crashed._

He was sitting on the bleachers, alone, staring at the brown dead football field. There were no cheerleaders practicing. He had lost his taste for watching them. He was always reminded of Sam's sour jokes about them and of Tucker's laugh when he failed at flirting with them. A lone leaf crackled in the corner of the bleachers.

It felt like fall, not summer.

The world felt dead.

Then, he heard a voice he recognized.

Sam's voice.

Danny was on his feet before he could even think about it and bolting down the steps. He skidded across the slick aluminum, nearly falling, but grabbing the railing and throwing himself down the stairs that led to the area that was below the bleachers. There was a lot of trash and mud there and probably a fair amount of money that he didn't care about, but someone else did…

Sam was on her knees in the mud, talking to herself, searching through the muck for loose change that people had dropped during games. Danny watched, dumbstruck and horrified, as she found and quarter and shoved it in her pocket. She made a sniveling sound, half a cry, half a whimper.

"Sam?" Danny whispered, hardly believing his eyes. He had spent so many nights out trolling the streets, looking for her under bridges and in junkie dens, praying she wouldn't float in on the tide, and here she was rooting through the mud beneath the bleachers outside of school. "Sam?"

Her head snapped up, eyes wide and bloodshot. She looked like hell. Her face was scratched and bruised and smeared with black makeup. Her lips split and swollen and bloody and chapped. She was covered in sores and scratches where her skin was ripped apart. Some of her dark hair was sticking in the wounds, thick with blood in other places. For a moment, she stared at him without seeming to recognize who he was and the recognition never came into her face. She leaped at him, eyes wide and tongue sticking out like some kind of crazed animal. She tackled him to the ground, ice-cold hand in his throat, holding him down while she dug into his pockets for his wallet. Finding it, she bolted away from him, tore the cash from it, and hurled his wallet back at him.

A picture of them before everything happened fell out.

She stepped on it in her haste.

Danny didn't care about the money or the picture. All he cared about was Sam. He got to his feet, arms out in a placating gesture, hoping she would recognize him even though he had changed, fallen apart. "Sam?" he whispered.

She stared at him, licked her lips, and muttered, "Get out of my way."

"Sam, it's Danny."

"Fuck you!" she screamed. Then, he saw that her pupils were dilated to the size of olives—all black, darkness, lost. "Get away from me!"

"Sam, please, I'm here to help."

"Get away! Get back!" She pulled out a switchblade form somewhere and flicked it out. Her hands were shaking, all of her was shaking. "I need a hit," she muttered. Then, she was screaming again, "Get the fuck back!"

Danny did step back, but she dove for him, all screaming rage and drug-crazed-frenzy. They slammed into the muddy ground, his body taking the brunt of the fall. He held on to her, refusing to let her go, wrapping both his arms around her. She was all skin and bones and ice-cold and shaking. Sam was screaming, struggling, howling, and beating at his face and chest with her balled fists. Then, suddenly, she tore into his shoulder with that knife, plunging deep over and over again.

Crying out in agony, Danny tried to hold on, but the pain made his grip weak. Anguished, he clutched his injured shoulder with his good hand and rolled onto his side in the mud, feeling it sucking at his body. He stared at her desperately with his baby blue eyes, pleading with her.

Sam wrestled away from him, winding up in a crouch with her white coughing chest heaving. "You," she panted, "You stay the fuck away from me."

"Please, don't go," he gasped out. He would've sat up and tried to get a hold of her again, but that knife was dangling from her fingers and dripping his blood. He knew she would hurt him. "Sam, don't go. Tucker's in rehab because of what you did to him. You could go, too. You could go with him. We could get you through this." He made a pained sound. "I'll stay with you."

She glared at him, eyes all darkness. "Fuck you," was all she said and then she turned away.

"Please!" The desperation was raw in his voice. "Please, Sam! It's Danny! We're friends!" His voice cracked. "It's Danny…"

Sam spat out, "I hate blue eyes!" with her back still to him. Then, without looking back, she walked away from him. Her footsteps were hollow as she clonked away overhead on the cheap aluminum bleachers. The sound was empty and hollow like his broken heart.

…

Now, all Danny had was a scar, an old wound where Sam used to be.

…

It was a cheap motel on Stark Street. Gangs shot each other up at night. Junkies shot themselves up at all hours of the day. Prostitutes sold their last worldly possessions when they could, alternating between time on their feet and time on their backs. There was a redhead, too young to be alone, standing on the corner smoking and waiting to get picked up by some john that would beat her and fuck her and pay her. There were urchins living in the gutters—street kids and runaways, the forgotten part of society.

Sam practically lived in the seedy motel, laying on her back with her legs spread and rarely wearing clothes. It wasn't like she needed them anyway. She only left to get more or left the bed to dig the bugs out of her face. They were crawling around beneath her skin, living in her head. She hated that, hated them. The only thing that gave her pleasure anymore was the Meth. It was euphoria and it made her walk on air. What brought her down was the men that sauntered through the door, slipping in to her and making wretched sounds, but they put money in her hand.

Outside, the wrought iron stairs were creaking. Someone was coming up.

There was a knock at Sam's door. She wrapped the sheet around her naked body and pulled it open.

Don was waiting, grinning and looking smug. "Hey babe," he said. "I got you a real treat."

Sam purred, stretching herself along the length of him, feeling his hardness through his clean jeans. She asked what it would take and he put his hand between her legs. Per usual, he took her hard and fast. It felt like he was bruising the inside of her. Who knew? Maybe he was.

He didn't lay with her. He gave her the drugs and took the money and left.

Sometimes, Sam wished he would stay with her.

Sometimes, she hated being alone in this hellhole.

But she didn't think of Danny or Tucker or who used to be Sam.

Alone, she sat up, sheets slipping from her shoulders. She rubbed the bites there and scratched away a bug, digging into her flesh. Then, she fetched her lighter and her glass pipe and smoked some more. Happy and content, she lay back against the sheets and fell into a deep dreamless sleep.

When she woke up, it was to a pounding on the door. He was ugly and fat with a big hanging hairy gut and his left eye wandered as if it was disconnected from the rest of him. She took another man into her bed, letting him do whatever he wanted to her for fifty bucks. She hardly felt anything.

The high was too sweet.

After he left, she crawled into the shower, laying beneath the burning hot stream of water and watching the filth swirl down the drain for a long time. She wondered when the last time she showered was, but didn't think about it for too long. Getting out, she didn't bother drying off. She walked naked to her filthy stinking bed, lay down, and slept again.

She never thought of Tucker or Danny or her parents or getting clean.

Fuck Tuck!

Fuck Mom and Dad!

Fuck running water and indoor plumbing!

Fuck clinics!

Fuck Danny!

Fuck Danny…

This was her life.

Wake up, get fucked, smoke some, enjoy, sleep, pick the bugs out of her face, fuck more, sometimes smoke and sometimes sleep, enjoy it if she smoked, pick the bugs out of her fingers, bleed, smoke, fuck, sleep. And the cycle continued on and on and on.

That was her life now.

…

Blistery winter winds were blowing in, bringing snow and ice and grey washed-out depressing weather.

Tucker was going to be getting out soon and it was going to be hard for him with such depressing weather, but Tuck had been clean for almost a year now. He was doing okay, but no one wanted to hire someone who had rehab on his resume.

But he was getting along alright.

_Hop along, Cassidy._

He talked to Danny at least once a week, listening to his friend's voice dropping and growing darker and more depressing. Sometimes, Tucker loved the safety and brightness and support of the rehab clinic, but he had to get on with his life soon. He had to get back out there into the big wide world.

_Shit._

He was scared.

He was scared that he wouldn't be able to stay clean.

He was afraid he would become a junkie.

He was afraid he would be like Sam.

He slapped that thought away, slamming the iron doors in his brain behind it. He couldn't think like that. He had to think he was going to make it, think positive, or he wouldn't survive.

And he had to think of Danny. Danny was out looking for her, still… again… as usual. Danny _needed_ to find her, to think she was okay.

Tucker looked around his room, making sure he had everything, grabbed his suitcase, and then stepped into the canary-yellow hallway. A few people hugged him goodbye—his group therapist, a girl who had come in the same time as him, a young man who reminded him a lot of Danny. But then, Tucker had to leave it all behind.

His parents were waiting.

He was going home.

…

Everyone said he should stop looking for her.

They said she wasn't coming back.

They said she was probably dead.

He _hated_ all those words.

Danny slouched deeper into his trench coat as he walked down the street, hunched against the icy-cold wind. Winter was coming and it was going to be brutal. He hoped wherever Sam was, she was at least warm.

Sam had been gone for a year and a half now.

It was sick really.

She had gotten Tucker addicted. She had stolen from Danny and stabbed him. She had had no qualms with hurting him, her best friend. She ran from him. It was clear she didn't want help, that she didn't care anymore, but Danny still thought about her.

She was his best friend. Still.

He hoped that she was alive and doing alright, but he tried to keep the hope to a minimum. He hoped she was warm because he knew she wasn't safe. He hoped she wasn't pregnant because he knew she was selling herself. He hoped he would find her one day and manage to bring her back.

He hoped a lot of things.

The first beautiful frosty flakes drifted down from the cold ash-grey sky. Danny stopped, looking up and catching the flakes on his face. He enjoyed the sensation of the ice melting on the heat of his skin, water beading up and rolling down his neck like the tears he couldn't shed.

He wasn't ready to let her go.

He wouldn't admit she was gone.

Every day he blamed himself, hated himself. He remembered the night before the rave. He remembered her saying that she was going to try Meth. He remembered his silence. He remembered not saying anything or doing anything to stop her.

"_Danny?"_ she had said.

And he hadn't said anything. Nothing… silence… nothing…

…

Danny found her on the corner, slouched deep in a ratty black jacket. She was shivering from the cold, nose running, and making small whimpering animal sounds. Her dark hair was plastered to her cheeks and bloodied mouth and caked in the picked-apart wounds on her face and neck. There was dried blood on her face and in her clothes. It was clear that her body was already half-frozen. She must have been selling herself, but no one was buying, not this close to Christmas. Christmas was family time, but she was Jewish and she was alone.

"Sam?" Danny whispered.

She didn't look up at him. She didn't even respond, just started chewing at her lips with her yellowed teeth. Within seconds, she had herself bleeding.

Danny pushed through the shoppers and pedestrians and crouched desperately at her side. He gripped her shoulders tightly in his hands, shaking her lightly and calling out her name. She didn't respond to him, gave not a single sign that she knew he even existed.

"Come on," he whispered. "I'm going to get you some help."

He cradled her in his arms, lifting her icy body from the cold concrete. A few people glanced at him as if disgusted, but he ignored them. He focused only on Sam, on holding her close, on watching the blood roll down her battered face as he walked.

The last time he had found her, he hadn't been strong enough and she had hurt him and then gotten away.

This time, she wasn't going to get away or hurt him. He was taking her someplace safe and he wouldn't be stopped.

It was time for Sam Manson to get better.

X X X

Everyone **MUST** go to this website! **www. montana meth. org** If anyone is too lazy to remove the spaces, there's a link in my profile. But I have personally SEEN the sick shit Meth does to people. _Watch the commercials, read the print ads, and look at the pictures! _

And by all means, **spread the word**!

Questions, comments, concerns? (Oh, reviews telling me I'm fucked up for writing this will be ignored completely, so if that's what you're going to say don't even bother reviewing.)


	2. Clarice

This chapter is _very similar_ to the UNHAPPY version until about halfway through. Sam has a **new sponsor** and she makes all the difference.

_PEOPLE ARE VERY IMPORTANT IN LIFE!_

**The ****Twelve Step Program**** to Recovery as Outlined by ****Alcoholics Anonymous****:**

Step 1 - We admitted we were powerless over our addiction and that our lives had become unmanageable

Step 2 - Came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity

Step 3 - Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood God

Step 4 - Made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves

Step 5 - Admitted to God, to ourselves, and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs

Step 6 - We are entirely ready to have God remove all these defects of character

Step 7 - Humbly asked God to remove our shortcomings

Step 8 - Make a list of all persons we had harmed and became willing to make amends to them all

Step 9 - Make direct amends to such people wherever possible, except when to do so would injure them or others

Step 10 - Continued to take personal inventory and when we were wrong promptly admitted it

Step 11 - Sought through prayer and meditation to improve our conscious contact with God as we understood God, praying only for knowledge of God's will for us, and the power to carry that out

Step 12 - Having had a spiritual awakening as the result of these steps, we tried to carry this message to other addicts, and to practice these principles in all our affairs

I will not be using these steps so _religiously_ in this story.

X X X

Sam woke up in a strange canary-yellow cheery little room with a big bouquet of white daisies at her bedside. She needed a hit. She was shaking something awful and she was cold. She tried to sit up, but something was holding her down. Desperately, she realized that she was restrained, tied to her bed with heavy Velcro straps. She opened her mouth and let out a scream, lashing and struggling against the restraints.

Then, there was movement beside her.

There was a young man, her own age she supposed, sitting at her bedside. He had been slumped over, maybe asleep. She stared at him, mouth open and no sound coming out for almost a full minute. She was unsure of exactly what she was seeing. He was handsome with dark tousled hair and radioactive ice-blue eyes and a sweet pink mouth with lush lips. She thought about fucking him for a moment and getting all the money he had in his pockets. She figured she would enjoy him—he was handsome and slender, beautiful—then she could throw him out and have a good hit.

"Hey Sam," he murmured and that mouth curved into a small strained smile.

Her voice constricted in her throat. "How… do you know my name?"

That small smile shattered like a porcelain plate knocked off the counter at breakfast time, going into a million pieces that skipped away never to be put back together into anything resembling a plate or a smile. "You… you don't remember me?"

She shook her head and the world spun dizzily around her. "Where am I?"

"I'm Danny Fenton. I'm your friend."

"I have no friends. Where am I?"

"Some place safe," he murmured. "I found you on the street. This is rehab."

"I don't want to be in rehab!" She struggled against her bonds. "I want a hit! I want out!"

Those blue eyes of his were so sad, heartbreaking, if she had a heart to break. "I'm sorry, Sam, but this is for your own good." Then, he stood up and left the room. His shoulders were hunched in, making him look small and broken. Then, he closed the door and her screams chased him down the hall.

Danny didn't run out, but he wanted to.

…

For a week, Danny came back every day and sat at Sam's beside, listening to her screaming and watching her struggle. Her parents couldn't come in. Mrs. Manson broke down before they even reached the parking lot, sobbing and howling like her heart was broken. Mr. Manson couldn't get out of the car if he made it that far, he just sat in the driver's seat staring straight forward, catatonic. Tucker had to stay away from the thought of Meth.

Only Danny could come.

Finally, after the hardest week of his life, her body had made it over the hump of withdrawal, but… Her body had stopped craving at hit, but that said nothing for her mind. Danny was afraid of the day they would untie her and let her out of bed. He was afraid she would run right for the door, for the street, cutting through him to get to her drugs again. But today, when he came in, she wasn't convulsing on the mattress like someone dying.

Today, she only looked dead.

Sam was laying on the bed, blankets snarled and twisted around her body. Her thin white coughing chest was heaving and she looked ghost-pale. Her dark hair was plastered against her broken skin. When he entered and went to his usual seat at her side, cradling a bouquet of dyed black carnations against his chest, she turned to look at him for the first time since he had brought her here. Her sad violet eyes were far-seeing and he wasn't exactly sure she was _seeing _him, but either way she opened her cracked mouth and spoke in a small ragged little voice.

"Hi Danny," she croaked.

His heart swelled in his chest to the point of breaking open, bursting. "Sam, you remember me?"

"Yeah. I remember I hurt you."

His hand strayed to his shoulder where there was a deep zipper-like scar. She had stabbed him with her knife when she had been digging for money beneath the bleachers at school. She had also stolen all the money from his wallet, but that didn't matter to him. He didn't even care about the aching scar in his shoulder. "It doesn't matter," he whispered.

"I made Tucker smoke it with me."

Danny's heart lurched. He could speak for himself, tell Sam that it didn't matter that she had hurt him, but he couldn't speak for Tucker. He didn't know if Tucker had forgiven Sam. "He's okay. He made it through rehab," Danny murmured.

She closed her eyes and seemed as if she had stopped breathing.

"Sam?"

She turned her face away from him.

"You can get through, too. I'll stay with you."

"I don't want to… I like Meth…"

"It doesn't like you. Have you even _seen_ your face, Sam?" His voice cracked as he reached for a mirror and shoved it in her face.

She stared into the silver glass as if uncomprehending. Her skin was white-pale, completely colorless, as if she was already dead. Her mouth was chapped bloody, flesh peeling off her lips. Her teeth were yellow and looked like they hadn't been brushed in a long time. She had picked all the flesh off her cheek almost down to the bone and there was a big black bruise across the side of her face where someone had punched her. Her dark hair which had always been glossy and beautiful was stringy and greasy and snarled into knots. "Is that me?" she whispered.

Danny watched her fingers curl and uncurl. "Yes," he whispered. Then he took out an old picture of them and put it beside the mirror so she could see the difference in herself. "Do you see what has happened to you? Meth did this to you…"

"You're lying," she choked out.

Danny shook his head. "Sam, you need help. Please…" He pressed the mirror and the picture into her hands, allowing her to touch them and see her own tormented face. "I can help you. I'll stay with you until you're better. I swear it."

"I won't get better… I'm not sick."

"You're addicted."

"I am not…" She turned her face away again. "There's nothing wrong with me. It's all wrong with you." She dropped the mirror and it shattered on the floor.

A nurse materialized at the doorway, took in Sam and then Danny's stricken face. She recognized Danny Fenton. He was here every day, watching and waiting and hoping. She had heard about him from Tucker, too. Gently, she put her hand on Danny's back and guided him from the room. She took him to the break room and put a cup of hot coffee in his hands. Then, she went back to Sam Manson's room to sweep up the mess of the broken mirror.

…

The next day, Danny returned again to sit beside Sam. Today, he had worn a tank top beneath his jacket. He wanted her to see his scar, the scar she had given him, but he didn't want to shove it in her face. He shrugged from his jacket and draped it over the back of his chair. The carnations he had brought were already beginning to wilt.

"Hey Sam," he murmured and sat down. He rolled his shoulders, knowing she could see the pearl-white scar the followed the curve of his shoulder.

"What is that?"

"What's what?"

She narrowed her eyes. "That scar."

"You gave it to me. Don't you remember?"

"I needed the money." Her voice was cold and flat.

"So you stabbed me, your best friend?"

"I needed the money."

"I know you did, but isn't that a little strange?"

"I needed the money. I needed a hit."

"Bad enough to hurt me, your best friend?"

Her violet eyes welled with small tears and he watched her throat working furiously.

"Is it normal to do that? To hurt your friends?"

She moaned like an animal. "I needed the money. I needed it!"

Danny sat forward, searing her with his eyes. "Sam, you stabbed me!" He lowered his shoulder and pressed it into her bound hand, forcing her fingers to feel the deep crag of the scar. "I'm your best friend and you stabbed me! You stabbed me!"

She dug her nails into his flesh and he winced, but did not pull away. "Stop it! Stop it! I know it was wrong, but I needed it! I needed it!"

"But it was wrong?"

She started crying. "Yes, I know it was! I didn't care!"

Danny gently hugged her. "You have a problem, Sam. Do you realize that?"

She sobbed, but nodded slowly into his shoulder. Her tears were cold on his skin.

Danny smiled to himself and pulled back to show her the smile on his face. "That's the first step, Sam. You're going to get better."

…

Today was the day she got out of bed.

Danny was standing in the doorway, looking nervous and terrified, but she didn't run towards the door or try to throw herself out the window to get back to the street. She trembled and shook, but did not search for her drugs. Sam staggered over to Danny and he gently gripped her outstretched hands. She was weak and light and chilly to the touch. Goose bumps prickled across his flesh, but he smiled at her anyway. She didn't smile back, but that didn't matter.

Sam had gotten cleaned up—a hot shower, clean clothes, some good food in her belly. Her face was still picked apart at the seams and there were deep bruise-like circles beneath her violet eyes. She looked older and thinner, but she was still Sam. Danny would always be there for her.

Today was the day she started treatment.

There was a circle of plastic orange chairs set up and a long table of cookies and drinks pushed up against one wall. The group leader, Desiree Adams, was a recovered Meth-user herself with the age in her eyes. She had been clean for almost twenty years now. She knew what these people were going through. She knew how hard it was to quit, to get clean. She looked out over the assembly of twenty-six faces—pocked with sores, picked apart, bruised, beaten, sleepless, and far-seeing. She knew some of them wouldn't make it. Some didn't even have a fighting chance. Then, she saw a face that wasn't scarred by Meth, a face with hope and also fear in it.

"Hello," Desiree said with a small smile in the young man's direction.

He smiled back, detangled himself from the grip of a skinny downhill young woman with the brutal signs of addiction in her face, and walked right up to Desiree. "Hi, I'm Danny Fenton. I'm… not a user, but I'm supporting my friend, Sam. I hope it's alright that I sit in."

Desiree smiled at him. "Of course, Danny. They could use all the support they can get."

He smiled at her and returned to his friend's side, gently taking her white thin hand in his own. Sam had the darting eyes of someone who wanted to run, but was forced to stay by something they were unsure of.

"Alright everyone, come around," Desiree said. Once everyone was seated, Danny and Sam directly across from her, she offered them small reassuring smiles. "Now, we all know why you are here, but would someone care to tell me?"

"We have a problem," a young woman with her pale blonde hair twisted into dreadlocks. "We're here to get help."

"Correct. Since you are all here, that means you have already made it through Step One. Step Two is about faith, hope, and realization. Any idea what that might mean?"

The same blonde spoke again. "We have to have faith in our Lord, hope we'll get better, and realize that we can."

"Very good," Desiree said with a glowing smile. "What is your name, honey?"

"Clarice."

Desiree knew Clarice would make it. "Well, that's what we're here to talk about today and when this meeting is over, I will assign you all sponsors to help you get through this very hard time. As a former user, I know how hard it can be to get clean, but I am also living proof that it can be done." She paused as if to let that sink in for a moment, then she smiled and said the legendary line. "Now, I'd like everyone to introduce themselves and tell us how long you have been addicted to Meth."

It felt strange for Danny to be sitting here in this Meth Support Group. Sam was holding his hand so tightly that he couldn't feel his fingers and everyone was glancing at him. Finally, it came to be Sam's turn and then his. He stood up, which seemed to surprise Desiree, and introduced himself anyway.

"My name is Danny Fenton. I am not a Meth Addict, but I have watched my friends become addicted. One made it through and is clean now, but Sam—" he smiled at her softly "—she's going through now."

"Hello Danny."

Desiree smiled at him. The kid had spunk. Then, the smiled faded from her face and she cut her eyes to his friend, Sam. The girl's eyes were still darting wildly. She hoped, for Danny's sake, that Sam had enough of his spunk to survive.

…

Step Three was all about getting help from outside sources. Since Sam wasn't religious and never would be, her sponsor would be the main part of her Step Three. Danny had wanted to be Sam's sponsor, but Desiree insisted her sponsor be a fellow addict. So instead of Danny, Clarice was Sam's sponsor. (Desiree knew that Clarice's desire and motivation to get clean would be good for darting-eyed ready-to-run Sam.) Danny helped Clarice move her few meager possessions into Sam's room and the young girl was all smile and power.

She _wanted_ to be clean.

Clarice was sitting on her bed, chewing gum as if her life depended on it and wrapped in her heavy quilt. Danny was sitting in his chair, sweating in his jacket but unwilling to remove it and risk Clarice seeing the scar Sam had given him. Sam was in the shower and they were alone.

"I want to get better, you know," Clarice said and blew a big bubble. "And I am. Nothing will stop me from getting better. I'm going to get clean and stay clean. I have a little girl, you know." She smiled at Danny, but it was sad. "My water broke, but I went out and got high before giving birth to her. She almost didn't make it. I cared more about Meth than I did my own _child_." Her eyes welled up with tears. "That's fucked up, isn't it?"

Danny touched his scarred shoulder. Should he tell her? He glanced at the door. Sam was still showering quietly. "Sam hurt me," he told Clarice. "She needed money. She stabbed me and stole from me and then ran away." He pulled down his jacket and showed her the jagged scar.

Clarice winced. "I bet that hurts, man," she said. "I bet that hurts…"

Danny cradled the scar in his hand. "It does."

…

Sam was lying on the floor of the tub, sobbing as quietly into her hands as she possibly could. She wanted a hit so bad she could taste the smoke of Meth in her mouth. The hot water cascaded down on her, pouring over her burning shoulders and making her self-inflicted wounds ache and sting. She started sobbing and scratching at her arms, tearing away the flesh. She was so desperate for a hit. She wanted it so badly. She just wanted to tear through the walls to get out, to get back to that seedy little motel room where she sold herself for money and drugs.

There was a small knock at the door and Clarice's voice, "Sam? Are you alright?"

Sam wondered if Danny was still there, standing on the other side of the door, waiting for her response.

Sam let out a sob that she couldn't contain, so loud that it bounced off the bathroom walls. Immediately, the door opened. There was no lock on it—just a sign on the outside that you could flip between "Occupied" and "Open." Clarice and Danny were standing there. Clarice's eyes were sad, her expression disappointed, but Danny looked completely stricken and horrified. He ripped the clear curtain back and dove in at her, trapping her scratching hands with his own.

"Sam! Sam, stop it!" Danny shouted at her. "Stop it! Stop it!"

Clarice helped him pulled her from the tub and wrap her in a white fluffy towel. Together, they carried her to her bed and Clarice could tell it killed Danny to have to tighten the restraints on her arms and legs. Then, he collapsed in the chair at her bedside. Clarice went and got a nurse, but then she wished she hadn't because they only took Danny away.

Clarice was alone in the room with Sam. She wanted to smack her. This young woman had everything—beautiful friends and a family that tried harder each and every day to make it here to see her—and she was completely lost to the drug. Clarice thought of her own life. She had nothing—no family, no friends. The guy who had knocked her up had just been some john who had gotten her a hit that night. Her little baby girl was deformed with a cleft palate. Clarice was hoping to save enough money for the surgery that would fix her daughter's face, but first she had to get clean.

And Sam…

Clarice wanted to smack her for throwing away this chance at life she had been given. She glanced at the open doorway, at Danny's slowly vanishing shadow as he was led away, and she made a promise to herself that she would do all she could to get Sam to see the light and come back to it. Then, she gave the battered ultrasound picture of her baby girl a small kiss and went to bed.

…

For Steps Four through Seven, Desiree asked Danny to sit out. She explain to him that they were all about looking inward and making a list of your own shortcomings. She suspected that if Danny was with Sam, she wouldn't tell the truth for fear of what he would think of her. Though he wanted to support her to the fullest, Danny listened to Desiree and did not sit in on the meetings. Clarice touched his arm as she left and smiled at him gently. He found it hard to smile back.

After the meeting, Clarice and Sam returned to their shared room. There was a note from Danny taped to the door. Apparently Tucker had come, picked him up, and brought him home for dinner with their families.

"That's nice, isn't it?" Clarice said to Sam.

Sam laid down on her bed and then curled up on her side, ignoring Clarice completely.

"Sam?" Clarice repeated. Then, her temper boiled over. She grabbed Sam by her narrow shoulders, jerked her upright, and shook her roughly. "Would you stop moping around on your ass? Do you understand that Danny wants you to get better? He wants it with no thought of himself! He must love you! Why do you think he's been out looking for you all this time? Because of your good looks or your personality? You're addicted to Meth! You don't even have a face anymore. And you stabbed him, your best friend! That's about as bad as a person can get. Do you understand any of that?"

Sam shoved Clarice back. "Get off of me! You don't know what I'm going through!"

"I don't? I'm addicted, too. I'm going through everything you are!"

"Shut up!" Sam shouted at her.

Clarice shoved her back against the pillows. "No, you shut up! If anything, _you _don't know what _I'm _going through! I have a daughter with a deformed face because of my addiction. I'm going to get clean so I can be with her and then I'm going to make enough money to fix her face!"

Sam stared at Clarice, blank faced. "Why would you do that?" she whispered.

"Because she's my baby. I want her," Clarice snapped. "And you should want your life back. You should want to get out of here and out of this life. If not for yourself, then for Danny."

"For Danny?"

Clarice lowered her eyes, unsure of if it was her place to say. "He cares for you, Sam."

Sam closed her eyes and Clarice saw tears welling up beneath her lashes. She sat down on the mattress next to Sam and gently ran her fingers through the girl's dark hair. She didn't have anything else to say. That was all she had under her belt, but it must have been enough because Sam whispered, "How did I get here? I was only going to try Meth once…"

"It doesn't work that way," Clarice said to her. "Addiction isn't a decision, but trying it was. Why did you try it?"

"I just… wanted to know what it would be like…"

"Well, do you know now?"

"Yes…"

"Was it worth it?"

"No…"

Clarice withdrew from Sam, flicked off the lights, and lay down in her own bed, cradling the photograph of her baby girl to her chest. She fell asleep listening to Sam crying softly and thinking of her beautiful little girl and striking blue-eyed Danny.

…

"Today will be a short meeting," Desiree said in her sweet soft voice. "Step Eight: make a list of all persons we had harmed and became willing to make amends with them. Those of you wishing to proceed to Step Nine: making direct amends to such people—" Here, she looked right at Sam since Danny was once again sitting beside her in the circle "—should proceed at your own pace. So, I would like all of you to turn to your sponsors and speak aloud the name of the person you hurt most with your addiction."

Sam turned to Clarice with a small smile in her eyes. Then, she closed her eyes and whispered, "Danny."

Danny's expression was cutely surprised, his baby blue eyes widening.

Clarice chose to keep her eyes open and whispered, "My baby girl."

Desiree smiled at the trio. A few chairs were empty by now. Some people hadn't made it this far. Then, there were others like Clarice who would make it all the way to the end of the program. She still wondered if Sam would make it.

…

"Danny, can I talk to you?" Sam asked as she, Clarice, and Danny walked back to their room.

"Of course, Sam," he said with a smile.

Clarice grinned at them and ducked into their room.

As an inpatient, Sam couldn't go outside, but she led Danny to an open window and stood there with him. She gently took his hands and smiled softly at him. Danny took in her face. She was starting to look like his Sam again. Her face had some color in it and her torn flesh was healing. Her ragged greasy hair had been trimmed neatly and was tamed back in a low little braid courtesy of Clarice. Her violet eyes weren't so far-seeing and she really looked at him now. Her teeth were beginning to whiten and the age was beginning to leave the set of her mouth. She didn't look like the old her completely, but she looked better than she had when he first brought her here.

Danny gently squeezed her hands, relishing the warmth that had come into her flesh. "What did you want to talk to me about?"

"I wanted to apologize to you for what I did."

Danny waited while she warred with herself, struggling to gather her thoughts.

"I wanted to apologize for hurting you, for stabbing you." She raised her hand to his damaged shoulder, hidden safely beneath his t-shirt. He knew she could feel the deep crag of the scar even through his clothing.

Danny gently embraced her. "I've already forgiven you, Sam."

She hugged him tightly, trying not to cry. "You're so good to me, Danny, too good."

"It's everything you deserve."

"Do I?"

"Yes," he breathed.

Her breath was minty and moist on his face. He wanted to kiss her, but… he couldn't. He drew her into a hug again, tucking her head neatly beneath his chin to banish the temptation. Sam let out a sigh and held on to him tightly. Her eyes filled with tears as she came to the realization that Danny was the only one who had always been there for her and he was the one she had hurt the most with her addiction. She felt like Clarice, hurting her precious baby but loving her so much and the baby would always love her regardless of what she had done. Danny was the baby, so small and hurt and hopeful and loving.

"I'm so sorry, Danny. I'm going to get better," Sam whispered.

"I know you will, Sam. I know you will," he murmured into her night-dark hair.

Clarice was standing in the doorway, peeking around, watching them. Convinced that Sam had successfully completed Step Nine, she ducked back into their room and let them have their moment together. She took the picture of her baby from the dresser and gave it a kiss. Then, she whispered an apology to the glossy photograph and promised that she was going to make this all right just like Sam was. Strange that the girl she had first despised for her negativity was now her idol.

X X X

Everyone **MUST** go to this website! **www. montana meth. org** If anyone is too lazy to remove the spaces, there's a link in my profile. But I have personally SEEN the sick shit Meth does to people. _Watch the commercials, read the print ads, and look at the pictures! _

And by all means, **spread the word**!

Questions, comments, concerns? (Oh, reviews telling me I'm fucked up for writing this will be ignored completely, so if that's what you're going to say don't even bother reviewing.)


	3. Danny

The **national**** average recovery rate** for Meth is thought to be between **16-20%.**

X X X

Desiree had put up a big wall-to-wall poster that said "Toast for Change!" Beneath it she had a table with eleven champagne glasses full of non-alcoholic Sparkling Cider. Out of the twenty five people that had started this program, only ten had made it to the end. The eleventh glass was for Danny, the beautiful strange boy who had been here through it all. Desiree pulled him aside to applaud him for sticking with his friend. There were families that abandoned their addicted children, spouses, and parents and here was this fifteen-year-old boy who had never given up. She told him he was amazing, but he brushed it off with a small laugh. He said she was the amazing one. She got people over their addictions. She was the real hero here. Desiree laughed and hugged him. Then, she spoke to her assembly.

"Everyone, as your last day in this program, I have arranged a party of sorts," Desiree said cheerily. "I would like each of you to come up here, take a glass, and make a toast for change. Now, who would like to go first?"

With the same excitement and determination she had shown on her first day, Clarice spoke up first. She went to the front of the room, standing in front of the table and shamelessly before them, with her thin fingers wrapped around the stem of the glass. "My toast for change…" she was quiet for a moment, soft little smile on her mouth. "I toast my baby! When I get out of here, I'm going back to court and I'm going to get my baby. I'm going to fix her face. I changed for her."

There was a smattering of applause for her.

Then, Desiree tipped her head at Danny until he smiled awkwardly and stepped up to the plate.

"Well, I'm not actually an addict, but I've been here though most of this program save Steps Four through Seven when Desiree asked me to step out." He smiled at them. "So I have no real change in myself to toast, but I would love to toast all of you. You are amazing people. You made it through this. I think you changed me."

His face morphed into a beautiful smile that made Desiree's heart sing. She had never seen such a wonderful dedicated and hopeful young man. Meth was a hard drug to come back from and she knew he knew that, but he had never given up. His presence had done a lot for the group, she could tell, because the applause for him was even louder than it had been for Clarice.

Everyone loved Danny.

Surprisingly, Sam volunteered to go next. She stepped up in front of the room, but did not immediately take a glass. She turned and looked right at Danny, violet eyes gleaming like part of a misplaced sunset. "I want to toast Danny. He's the real reason I managed to come clean." She stared at Danny, eyes big and sad but also hopeful and happy. "If it wasn't for him, I would have died out there on the street. I toast Danny."

Danny's face blushed cutely pink and his big blue eyes looked surprised. Then, he smiled at her so beautifully that it was like the sun rising, like a spread of white wings, like the first steps of a baby—pure and spectacular. "It was all you, Sam," he whispered.

The applause for Sam was even louder than the applause for Danny, but Desiree figured that was only because Danny was leading it.

Everyone loved Danny, even Sam.

…

The next day, they could leave. Some would be going to a halfway house, others would be going home, and some would go out into the big wide world on their own. Sam was afraid to leave. She was afraid to meet her family, to face them. She was afraid not to see Clarice every morning, noon, and night.

"Danny," Sam whispered. "What if they hate me?"

"They don't," he said softly. "I've already talked to them."

"And they still love me?"

"They never stopped."

"What about Tucker?"

Danny hesitated. "You'll have to ask him yourself. He's picking us up."

"What about your parents? Don't they hate me for hurting you?"

"No."

"What about—?"

"Sam, would you stop, please? Everything is going to be okay." Danny reached down and grabbed her hand, threading their fingers together. He smiled at her reassuringly.

Clarice shouldered her backpack and tucked the picture of her baby into her bra. "You two going to be okay?"

"We'll be fine. Are you sure you don't need a place to stay?" Danny asked Clarice.

"Yeah, I'll be fine. I'm going to the halfway house with all the other crazies. Then, I'm going to get my baby." She smiled. That baby girl was the world to her and all she had was one picture. "But, I would like to swap numbers."

Danny smiled. "Of course." He gave Clarice his cell phone number and let her write the number of the halfway house in the palm of his hand. "I'll call you when Sam get's a phone and give you the number. Actually, Clarice, I'd really like to get you a phone too."

She grinned. "Thanks, Danny, you're so sweet, but I'll be okay."

"You can call me any time," Danny offered, "if you need anything."

Clarice chuckled. "Thanks, but I'll be fine. Really."

"Please, promise you'll call if you need anything."

"Okay, okay, I will," she said and then muttered, "I don't think you'll shut up otherwise."

"What was that?"

"Nothing!" Clarice was all innocent smiles and a mischievous gleam to her eyes.

Danny narrowed his eyes at her, but didn't say anything. He picked up Sam's bag and led the girls from the room with the throng of other people who were leaving. Clarice gave him one last smile in the parking lot and then pushed off into the crowd. Danny waved goodbye to her. Sam pulled her hand from his, raced after Clarice, caught up with her, and Danny watched them desperately hugging each other and trying very hard not to cry. Then, they pulled away from each other and Sam returned to Danny's side.

She took a deep breath and murmured, "I'm ready."

"Good," Danny said and led her to where Tucker was parked and waiting.

…

Tucker had a neat little station wagon in blood-red with soft leather seats. It wasn't his dream car, but he had learned to settle his dreams. Since his addiction, he had a different perspective on the world. It was a bleaker, but also somehow more hopeful. He stopped dreaming of dating a cheerleader. He started thinking about how he could save them from the in crowd, from the consuming popularity that would eventually destroy them if they weren't strong enough. He saw the world that way now—threatening but also full of wonder.

Danny opened the passenger side door and held Sam's hand while she slipped into the seat. Then, he tossed her bag trunk and jumped in the backseat. "Hey Tucker. How're you doing?" Danny asked.

"Good, good," Tucker said. He put the car in drive and pulled out of the lot.

Sam turned in her seat, looking past Danny's head at the image of the rehab center. Her face was white ghost-pale and she looked afraid. Danny touched her hand and gave her a small smile. She tried to return it, but couldn't. Instead, she turned to face Tucker and offered him a weak curve of the mouth that might have once been her _worst_ Goth smile.

"Hi Tuck," she forced out. Then, her eyes welled up with tears and she let out a sob. "Do you hate me?"

Tucker put on his blinker without saying a word and pulled over into the shoulder of the road. Then, he reached across the consul and wrapped her in a devastating hug that crushed all the air from her lungs. She clutched Tucker tightly and sobbed her heart out. Danny sat back in the seat, averting his eyes, feeling like he was intruding on a private moment.

"Sam, it's okay. I don't hate you. I don't even blame you. It was my own fault. I should have been stronger. I should have said no," he whispered.

"But," she sobbed. "It was all me. It was my fault."

"It wasn't," Tucker whispered. "I don't blame you."

Sam could speak anymore. She just sat beside him, wrapped in his arms, sobbing her heart out. After what felt like an eternity of crying and sobbing, Danny reached over the seats and wrapped his arms around both of them.

"Hey, guys," Danny said softly. "It's okay. We're together again and we're going to make it through."

Tucker smiled up at Danny, his eyes glassy with unshed tears.

"You want me to drive, Tuck?" Danny offered.

"No, I'm fine," he said. "Besides, you're a terrible driver."

Danny laughed. It was a deep contagious sound that rattled deep into Tucker's core. It felt like forever since he had heard his friend laugh. He felt his own mouth curve into a smile in response. Beside him, Sam let out a small girlish giggle and then pressed her small white hands to her mouth. Danny reached around her and pulled her hands down from her mouth, freeing her laughter and smiles. They were all laughing, sitting in Tucker's blood-colored mom-van.

It wasn't the same as it used to be, but it was getting close.

…

Danny had intended to only walk Sam to the door, say hello to her parents, and make sure they didn't react badly, but once they got to the door, she broke down. She clutched his hand, begged him to come in with her, and he finally agreed.

Tucker didn't come in with them, but he promised to catch lunch or dinner with them tomorrow.

The Manson house was a beautiful old-fashioned redbrick Colonial with white shutters and trim and a glossy black door with a big brass lion's head doorknocker. The last time Danny was here, it felt as if the lion's head was snarling at him, but today it was simply smiling.

Mrs. Manson opened the door eagerly, as if she had been poised to spring just on the other side of it. She was wearing plain jeans and a pale pink blouse—no pearls, no jewelry, no shoes. Mr. Manson was sitting on the couch, clutching the paper in his hands. It was so wrinkled and smudged that he must have been holding it and sweating for hours.

Danny smiled at them. "Mr. and Mrs. Manson," he said gently, "Sam." He put his hand in the small of her back and pushed her gingerly into the house, closing the door quietly behind them and setting her bag on the foyer table.

"Hi Mom. Hi Dad." Sam's voice was shaking.

Danny pressed his hand into her lower back, pushing her forward. Mrs. Manson let out a cry and rushed forward to envelope Sam in her arms. The two hugged and sobbed and cried. Mr. Manson got off the couch and came over to Danny.

"Thank you, Daniel," Mr. Manson said.

"For what?"

"For bringing her home. You're the only one who never gave up on her, who always believed in her. Thank you for that."

Danny smiled absently at the mother-daughter moment before him. "I couldn't give up on her. She's my best friend."

Mr. Manson put a hand on Danny's shoulder and then hugged him awkwardly. "Thank you," he murmured.

Danny didn't see any point in continuing this strange waltz of 'Thank you' and 'It was nothing' so he just said, "You're welcome, Mr. Manson." Then, he cast one more look at Sam, decided she didn't need him right now while she was safely wrapped in her mother's arms, and backed out the door. Before the door swung completely shut, he saw Mr. Manson going to embrace the two most important women in his life. Smiling to himself, Danny walked the two blocks back to his house feeling happier than he had in a long time.

It never occurred to him that she might try to leave home in search of drugs.

But, she didn't.

…

Having dinner with Tucker the next day almost turned out to be more of a family circus than a catch-up reunion, but Jazz intervened and said that the three friends deserved some time alone. She managed to single-handedly reign in the parents, an astonishing feat even for her.

They met at the Nasty Burger. Sam stood outside for a moment, staring up at the sign. It had been fixed and all the letters glowed bright perfect cherry-red. Danny put his arm around her back and guided her inside. Tucker held the door open and let it slam shut behind them.

Talk about an entrance!

All heads swiveled in their direction and a murmur filled the room. A burger fell on the ground with a splat.

"Let's grab our favorite table," Danny said with a smile as if he didn't realize people were pointing and whispering. Surprisingly, Tucker didn't seem to care either. Strange since she remembered her friends being all about popularity and trying to get in with the in crowd. Sam, on the other hand, wanted to shrink inside her skin and hide from everyone.

"Um, guys, everyone is looking at us," Sam whispered.

Tucker took a hold of Sam's other elbow and towed her forward with Danny on her other side. Danny and Sam slid into one side of the booth seat and Tucker wedged himself into the other. The boys put their heads together, whispering and chuckling. Sam sat back, watching them, feeling like she had missed out on a lot.

"So, Sam, a salad, per usual?" Danny asked cheerfully. "We're going to get burgers."

She tried to smile, but it came out a little twisted. "Yeah, that'd be great, but I don't have any money."

Tucker half-stood up from the table. "How can _you_ not have any money? You're Sam. _We're_ the ones who don't usually have money."

She stared down at her hands where they were folded in her lap. "My dad was worried I'd go out and buy drugs."

Tucker lowered his green eyes. He remembered that—the loss of trust, the doubt, the fear. Danny was the only one who had never once thought he would turn back to the addiction. That thought brought a smile to Tucker's face as he watched his friend.

Danny hugged her gingerly with one arm around her narrow shoulders. "Don't worry about it. I've got it," he said with a soft reassuring smile. Then, he and Tucker walked away to the counter to order and Sam was left alone at the table. Everyone started whispering and the voices cut through her like countless knives.

"That's Sam. Man, I thought she was dead."

"Yeah, I heard she was selling herself. My brother said he knows a guy who bought a piece of her ass."

"No way, Sam Manson? My sister works at the clinic. She said Sam just got out."

"Meth is some nasty shit. It killed my cousin."

"I hear they do anything for a hit, even get fucked in the ass."

"She sold herself, idiot, in some cheap motel downtown."

"I heard she hurt Danny… a long time ago…"

"Are you surprised? She's the one that hooked Tucker."

"No way! Really?"

"Yeah, Danny wanted it kept on the quiet. It's some big secret."

"But she hurt Danny, too? What'd she do to him?"

"I'm not sure. He wouldn't tell anybody."

Sam lifted her hands and pressed them over her ears, trying to block out the voices. She felt like screaming, like crying, like running out the swinging glass doors to never return. Her throat was all knotted up like there was a baseball in it. Her eyes burned with tears that tried to work their way out from beneath her creamy lids. Then, Danny and Tucker slid back into their seats with three trays of food—one green salad, two juicy burgers, and fries with plenty of ketchup.

"Sam?" Danny asked, but he didn't give her any time to respond. He put his arms around her and drew her into a strong warm embrace. "Don't listen to them," he murmured into her hair. "They don't know anything." He flashed his blue eyes at the people that were staring at them, enraged but also hurt. His friends had been through Hell and the Hell just never ended. If it wasn't the drugs, it was the people. Yet somehow they all wanted to wrap him up in roses, saying what a good person he was for staying with Tucker and continuing to look for Sam when they were making fun of his friends in the next breath. "Tuck, let's go to the park and eat."

"Way ahead of you, man."

Tucker gathered up their food, put the trays back, and shouldered open the door. Danny, his arms wrapped securely around Sam, followed. The door slammed shut so loudly that everyone inside jumped. They continued to talk about the trio, but at least they didn't have to listen to it anymore.

Danny eased Sam down on a bench in the park and knelt at her feet, touching her knees gingerly. Tucker plopped down beside her, rustling the bags of fast food in his lap.

"Don't listen to them, Sam," Danny said tenderly. "they don't know what they're talking about."

"But they do…" she whispered. "They knew about me… about what I've done—" her voice broke "—to you and Tucker."

Danny cupped her face in his hands. "Sam, it doesn't matter what they say. All that matters is that _we've_ forgiven you and we have. Just forget them. You never used to care about what other people thought of you. Where'd that go?"

"But…" She ran her hand over his damaged shoulder. "I hurt you. I hurt both of you."

Danny let out a deep sigh and sat back on his haunches. There wasn't anything he could say to help her and he knew it. He glanced at Tucker, speaking to him silently with his ice blue eyes. Tucker nodded slightly, stood up, gathered the food, and walked over to another bench. He unwrapped his burger, crinkling the wrapper, and took a big bite. This was Danny's moment. Tucker didn't need to be there so he wasn't going to intrude.

Danny cupped Sam's face in his hands again, forcing her to meet his eyes. "Sam, we don't blame you," he said softly. "_I _don't blame you." Then, he gently kissed her cheek. Her skin was rough and dry, scared and scaly, but he didn't care. "Actually, my feelings for you are the _farthest_ from blame."

"Farthest from blame?" Sam lifted her hands and pressed her fingers to her cheek. She was blushing cutely.

"Yeah," Danny said with a smile. It was clear she didn't completely understand his actions, but that was okay. It wasn't time yet. "Hey Tuck! Are you going to share that food?"

Tucker stood up, grumbling to himself good naturedly. "Go away. Come here. Go away. Come here. Jeez, make up your mind!" Then, he laughed.

X X X

A few weeks passed and Sam only got better, but like Tucker she was so different from the person she used to be. She started wearing jeans and soft low-cut shirts like the ones Danny's old crush Paulina always wore. She was afraid of people, of herself, of making Danny turn his back on her so she tried to be everything he wanted. Danny was troubled by these changes in Sam where he had never been bothered by the changes in Tucker. It felt like Sam was hiding something, hiding herself.

Danny was on his way to Sam's house now, hands shoved deep in his pockets and head ducked. He let out his breath in a rush and glanced up as he passed someone on the street.

It was a young girl with short dark hair pulled up into a sloppy ponytail high on the back of her head. She had condemning take-on-the-world eyes and wore purples-black lipstick on her lips. She was wearing thick-soled combat boots, black lace leggings and a pleated red-and-black plaid skirt with a mess of chains around her hips like some kind of belt and a red tank top cut raggedly with scissors just below the end of her ribcage. She also had a bellybutton piercing and black-painted fingernails. She didn't smile at him, but she didn't frown either—just a simple glance that said she saw him but didn't care much about him.

Danny continued to stare after her even as he knocked on the Manson's door, ignoring the brass lion's head doorknocker. Sam pulled it open and asked him what he was looking at when he didn't immediately turn to face her.

"I saw somebody who reminded me of you… before you got afraid," he said softly.

"Before I got afraid?" Sam repeated.

"Yeah," he said softly, still staring down the street. Then, he turned to face her. "Look, I'll show you."

Danny grabbed her hand and pulled her up the stairs to her bedroom. She hadn't changed the décor in there—it was still her—the canopy bed draped with purple velvet, the black curtains, the wrought-iron bed frame, the bookcases full of aged books on such topics as the living dead and corpse bothering and ghosts and horror, the old wardrobe full of black and purple clothing. It was all still her, the old her. She had all her new clothes and a cheap paperback in a cardboard box on top of the dresser, as if waiting to throw this impersonation of her out.

Immediately, Danny went to the place where he knew she hid her photo album—a big leather-bound thing with gold-leaf in old calligraphy in typical Goth-Sam fashion. He pushed her down on her bed and sat beside her, holding the big album in his lap.

"Look," he said. "This used to be you."

"Used to be?" Sam repeated.

He trailed his finger over photograph after glossy photograph of them together—Tucker looking like a geek, Danny looking heartbreakingly normal, Sam looking Gothic and dangerous. Her hair was short, her mouth was painted with purple lipstick, and her eyes glowed with life. She was wearing combat boots, leggings, a skirt, and a belly tank top. She had a non-smiling expression on in almost every picture. Her expression was simple—she saw the camera but she didn't care.

The old her…

"Sam," Danny whispered. "I miss the old you. I know you can't be exactly that person anymore. You've grown up, you've changed, you've been through Hell, but I miss that person… I wish you could have stayed the way you were. I wish we all could have…"

"Danny," she whispered and reached out. She held his shoulders, feeling the scar she had given him. "I'm sorry, but I'm… afraid…"

"Why?" he sounded desperate. "You never used to be. You were never afraid of anything."

"I might lose you," she whispered.

"Lose me?"

"There's nothing about me that would keep you here anymore. I'm afraid you'll leave."

"I see," he whispered, "My fault…"

"No!"

Danny wrapped his arms around her, crushing her against his chest. "Sam, I spent _so long_ looking for you, searching for you. I finally have you back! I finally found you. I'm not going to leave!" His back trembled, his entire body trembled. "I'm not going anywhere," he repeated.

"But _why_?"

He hesitated, voice sticking in his throat. "Because I…" he shook his head and said instead, "You're my best friend."

Sam pushed him back and looked into his face. "What were you going to say?"

Danny put his hand to the side of her face, feeling the scar where she had pulled all the skin off in search of bugs. He stared into those violet eyes of hers. They had life again, hope but also fear. "I love you, Sam," he said finally.

Her eyes widened and he saw the pulse in her throat jump. "You what?"

"I love you."

"Why?" Sam bolted to her feet, hurling herself away from him as if burned. "I hurt you! I hurt my family! I got Tucker addicted! I sold myself for drugs! I'm a terrible person! Why would you love me? No! _How_ could you possibly love me?"

Danny stood as well, closing the space between them.

She batted his hands away, eyes full of tears. "No! Tell me why! Tell me how!"

Danny persisted until he managed to get her in his arms. She fought him for a moment, rigid and tense, but then she collapsed in a sobbing mess against him. He slipped to his knees, cradling her in his lap. He rested his cheek on her hair. "Sam, there's no reason. You're important to me. I think I've loved you forever… since we were kids," he said. "When you were gone, all I could think about was getting you back. I couldn't live without you."

She sobbed hopelessly into his chest, tears soaking through his t-shirt.

"Does that make you unhappy?" His voice was low and soft and insecure.

She shook her head. "No, I just… I can't believe it…"

Danny hooked his fingers beneath her chin, lifted her face to his, and whispered, "Believe it." Then, he gently kissed her lips. Unlike the time he had kissed her cheek in the park, her skin was smooth and soft beneath his fingertips. Her lips were even softer, like the petals of flower. She made a soft sound against his mouth and slipped her fingers through is soft onyx hair, pulling him closer.

"Danny, thank you," she whispered when they finally broke for air. "That means… a lot to me."

"I'm glad," he murmured and gently hugged her.

"Hey, can you step out for a moment?"

Danny's eyes widened and he looked a little panicked, as if she was throwing him out.

"I want to change," Sam said with a small nervous smile.

He grinned back at her, touched her hair, and ducked out of her room.

Sam went to her old-fashioned wardrobe, opened the double doors, and peered in at all the black and purple. Then, taking a deep breath, she peeled off her jeans and clinging shirt and tossed them into the cardboard box on her dresser. She put on a black tank top with pale white embroidery on it in swirling windswept shapes, a soft dark purple blouse left unbuttoned, and a knee-length gauzy black layered skirt. Then, she went to her vanity, put some smooth purple lipstick on her mouth, and scraped some of her hair up into a ponytail high on her head. She stared at her reflection in the mirror, took her hair down, and wiped off the lipstick. Then, she felt good. She felt like herself.

She didn't smile at her reflection—she wasn't that kind of girl—but she did smile at Danny when she opened the door.

X X X

Sam had been clean for two years. Through everything—the nights she sat up crying for a hit, the times nightmares of selling herself woke her at night, the times she wanted so badly to slip away—Danny stayed with her. He was sweet and caring, all shining baby blue eyes and deep dark onyx hair, and smiles. He was always smiling. She felt as if he was her Grim Reaper, looming over her but keeping her alive when she otherwise would have been dead.

Danny and Sam saw Tucker once a week. They met for dinner at a little Chinese restaurant with murals of deep Koi ponds and gorgeous gardens and sweet women with slanted eyes in silky Chinese dresses adorned the walls and where the waitresses barely spoke English. They tried everything on the menu, mispronouncing things left and right and spending hours laughing and talking. Tucker was well off. He had a girlfriend, a sweet once-cheerleader with big doe-brown eyes and chestnut tresses. She had a bad home life and looked at the world much in the same way Tucker did. They were a good match, but Tucker never brought her to dinner with him. The weekly dinner with Danny and Sam was just for them, but he by no means banned her from his friends. It was just… the dinner was for them.

A few weeks ago, they had heard from Clarice again.

She sent them another long letter and some new pictures of her baby girl. The child was beautiful. She had soft platinum blonde hair that rarely lasted past the age of three and beautiful big jade-green eyes framed by thick dark lashes and a pretty candy-pink mouth with a neat little scar going from her lip to just beneath her nose. Clarice had named her Danielle, after Danny so that she would always remember the beautiful young man who had touched her life and the mistakes she had made with Meth.

Sometimes, late at night, Clarice called Danny and spoke to him in whispers, crying because she had nightmares just like Sam. Danny always sat at the edge of the bed he shared with Sam in their little apartment with his head resting on his hand and his naked pale back gleaming in the moonlight, listening to her until she had cried herself out.

Sam loved to watch him during those conversations with Clarice. She loved listening to his voice, so soft and sweet and caring, making everyone he spoke to feel like they were the only person that mattered in the world. She loved watching the muscles in his back ripple as they alternately tensed and relaxed. Sometimes, he fell asleep with the phone still in his hand.

They normally met Clarice for some occasion or another at least once a month, but lately she had been busy with her daughter. She always found time to put in a call to see how they were doing, though. It was always wonderful to hear from Clarice. She had so much life in her and so much life left to go.

"Danny?" Sam whispered in the darkness.

"Hmm?" He was half-asleep.

"Thank you."

"For what, sweetheart?"

"For everything," Sam whispered. She draped her arm across his bare waist and spooned against his naked back. "For never giving up on me… even when I didn't deserve it…"

That appeared to wake him up. He rolled over, blue eyes glowing in the dark, and embraced her tightly. "I always knew you'd make it," he whispered.

Her violet eyes welled up with tears, but she choked them back. "You're wonderful."

He smiled and his eyes started to slide closed. He had been up late the night before, holding her while she cried and remembered the seedy hotel room where she smoked and fucked. He deserved his rest. Sam leaned over his scarred shoulder and kissed him gingerly on the nose, enjoying the strange expression that crossed his sleeping face. Then, she snuggled down against his warm back, stroking the soft skin with her fingertips.

"You saved me, Danny," she whispered. "You never doubted me… not even once…"

X X X

Oh, I own nothing except my plot and _Clarice_.

Ending options:

**1.) There's a one-shot with an open ending, leaving it up to your imagination. **_Not Even Once_, the original version.

**2.) Danny can find her and bring her back and she can go through rehab, but** fail**. **In that case, look for _Not Even Once: Failure Version_.

**3.) Danny can find her and bring her back and she can go through rehab and **succeed** and everyone lives **moderately** happily ever after. **In that case, you've just read it.

…

Everyone **MUST** go to this website! **www. montana meth. org** If anyone is too lazy to remove the spaces, there's a link in my profile. But I have personally SEEN the sick shit Meth does to people. _Watch the commercials, read the print ads, and look at the pictures! _

And by all means, **spread the word**!

Questions, comments, concerns? (Oh, reviews telling me I'm fucked up for writing this will be ignored completely, so if that's what you're going to say don't even bother reviewing.)


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